


After This Storm Passes

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 2x17 - Why We Fight, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles finds Rachel after the events of 2x17. There was a lot missing in the aftermath of what Bass did, and Rachel and Miles needed to have a talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After This Storm Passes

After Bass gleefully announced the Patriot plans he had uncovered, Miles turned to find Rachel. She was gone, had disappeared into the rowdy crowd. Charlie caught up to him with a light tap on the shoulder, her brow scrunched and eyes watery, looking more like the girl who had come walking into his bar in Chicago three years ago than the warrior he had found when she had returned with Bass.

“Mom—” she managed to get out, before turning away too.

It took him a while to find Rachel again, before he realized that she would have ventured as far from the revelries as possible. He finally found her tucked into the ledge of the high windows of the power station—home base four. The light from a candle jammed in a wine bottle flashed against the object in her hands, and he recognized the flask as the one he always kept in a handy pocket of his backpack.

“Trying one of my vices?”

She only looked at him, blue eyes wide with determination and hurt. He hopped up on the ledge next to her, feet dangling off the edge. He held out his hand.

“You wanna share?”

“Dad’s asleep,” she said, still keeping the flask clutched in her long fingers, “He should be okay.”

Miles retracted his hand in disappointment, but he nodded. “I’ll deal with Bass, I promise.”

“It’s a bit late for that now, Miles.”

Her gaze was back out the window. Duncan’s men had torched most of the camp and the thick, billowing smoke backlit by orange could be seen against the dark blue of evening.

Miles made a poor excuse. “He got intel.”

“He killed the children of the people I grew up with. Half of the kids running around in masks on Halloween. Samantha and Nick who left me a get-well bouquet. And the twins who always hid from me. They—they weren’t soldiers.” She took long drink from the flask.  “Charlie came back covered in blood and apathy. And you were nowhere—”

“Rachel.” His voice came out angrier than he wanted. She rolled her head towards him, and he immediately regretted it. He was frustrated, probably needed to beat the shit out of Bass, but all he had was the woman he loved and she didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of those frustrations.

Rachel shifted towards him, pulling her knees under her. “What’s the point if the cost is what you’re fighting for?” She looked like she wanted to touch him, her hand ghosting over his. “There’s a balance, we just have to figure it out.”

He sighed. “I wish it were that easy.”

“Stop making excuses.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s _not_ easy, Miles. That’s my point.  People aren’t always stupid and selfish. Those cadets volunteered for the most selfless reasons imaginable. Now Monroe has put bullets in their brains.”

“Where did you hear that? That people do the stupid, selfish thing?”

“It’s something that Monroe used to say—about you—to taunt me before—” She bit her lip and sank back, looking out the window again. He knew where she went.

Miles licked his lips and resisted the urge to borrow the flask from her, suddenly infuriated that Bass had used _his_ words to harm her. “I’m sorry, Rache. I’m sorry that I left you alone with him.”

“None of this is your fault. It’s his.”

They both knew that wasn’t quite fair to their past, but he let it stand. Besides, Monroe really was the only one to blame for the bloody events of the night.

“Did you talk to Bass?”

“He generously offered me a place in his new republic,” she sneered, “and promised that it wouldn’t be behind bars as long as I kept the crazy to a minimum.”

The scathing attitude of her reply faded quickly, as she collapsed back into silence. Miles finally reached over and took the flask from her, gently peeling her fingers back one by one.

“As much as I’m all for self-medicating, how about we stop sulking and figure this out.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but its effect wasn’t that potent, her exhaustion and even helplessness filling every wrinkle in her face. It was unfair that here of all place she was still stunning, even as he watched pieces of her heart crumble.

He offered her a kiss before proceeding, his hand cupping her chin as he ran his thumb along her jaw. She leaned in to meet him, her lips salty against his tongue. He tried to be comforting and gentle, and found that the contact made him feel a little less lost too.

“What do we do?” she prompted him as they pulled apart, noses still close to touching, “I can’t stop Bass alone.”

“Well, you’re not alone. Bass wants to stop them from marching on Austin? We make ourselves part of the planning committee.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m crazy.”

“Bass isn’t getting his republic back.” Isn’t getting you back, he wanted to add. The reality of the night had struck him hard when he had looked from Rachel to Bass; his friend smiled cocky like they had bested the house at cards, but Rachel radiated the gravity of Monroe’s choice with every silent stare. He feared for her, if these men followed the charismatic Bass, and she tried to stop him again, and Miles wasn’t around again. Charlie could hold her own, but not Rachel, not against Bass if he decided that she was in his way.

“Miles?” Her voice brought him back, as did her hand at his temple, stroking unruly hair aside. He was hit with a sudden pang of affection untainted by the dismal night. “That’s not an answer.”

“I can’t promise anything, Rachel.”

“Yes, you can.” He found himself holding her gaze lightly. “You promise me that you’ll back me up. That we try to find another solution before murdering innocent kids.”

“I can’t—”

“I’m not saying that we will every time. But we try. And I don’t want Monroe torturing anyone for information anymore.”

Miles could only nod. He didn’t know if any of it could work, but the alternate was a psychotic former dictator looking to reclaim the title. His mouth was suddenly full of wispy hair and he realized that Rachel had hugged him, although it wasn’t so much hugging as clinging, and he reciprocated by leaning gently into the crook of her neck. He realized how little they’d done this—nothing sexual, simply touching for the sake of touching.

It felt domestic, but not wrong, simply like a couple after a long day with no energy left to do anything but collapse against each other. He supposed that they might end up besmeared rebel parents of a new nation if they weren’t careful. But that wasn’t why it felt right.  

It felt right because Bass had been wrong. A life with her, with Charlie, was reason enough to keep fighting.


End file.
